How Hawkeye saved the Black Widow
by bhut
Summary: Clint may love Laura, but he still could use some closure with the Black Widow. Somehow it turns into a complete rescue mission instead. Fury meddles. Many other characters. Post-Endgame in Avengers and S6 in AoS. Clintasha friendship.


**How Hawkeye saved the Black Widow**

_Disclaimer: none of the characters are mine, all belong to Marvel._

It came to pass that when Nick Fury was checking out of his hospital (regarding the aftereffects of Thanos' cosmic snap) and making plans in regards to Peter Parker, the extradimensional Mysterio, and several other people, who should come in but his former subordinate, Clint Barton aka Hawkeye.

For a while, the two men stared at each other, eye to eye, and then Hawkeye spoke:

"Nat is down."

"So's Tony Stark."

Hawkeye clearly thought this over and then Hawkeye changed topics:

"Nick, what the Hell was wrong with you? Was it so hard to slip me and Nat a note via Maria or someone else that something funky was going on in S.H.I.E.L.D. those days and could we please help? Instead you had Rogers do all that RPG adventure with Nat and Wilson-"

"I remember that you were out of town at that moment-"

"Like that ever stopped you-"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is actually coming back," Fury acknowledged the younger man's point – he was always at his best when he went for the direct approach rather than the subtle. "You want back in?"

"I don't know," Barton admitted, "I would like to give it a try, yes, but I admit that I'm not as young anymore, plus Laura…"

"Do you love her?"

"Yes!" Barton snapped, "I just don't know what's next. How are you and Hill-"

"Don't go there," Fury glared – he and Hill had their own relationship issues that he did not know how to address, not exactly. "Why are you here?"

"I'm just trying to be friends again," Barton confessed, looking much more sheepish than he normally did. "The Mad Titan has really messed everything up and made an already tangled and confusing situation even worse. Any advice?"

"About Ronin?" Fury asked dryly, showing that he was already aware regarding that stage of Barton's life…and possibly about the fallout that followed in its wake, one that was not related to Thanos and his cosmic snap…

Barton tried to make a cute puppy face. Everyone, even the Black Widow, agreed that Coulson did it much better (and less disturbingly), and Fury had not been impressed by it. He was impressed by Hawkeye's version even less. "Just go to the intersection of 27 and 78 streets," he said flatly. "Maybe that will give you a push in the right direction."

"Fine," Hawkeye muttered and off he went.

/ / /

The intersection of the streets in question held a jewelry store…generally familiar to the ones that Barton used to encounter in his persona of Ronin. Somehow, that epiphany made Barton feel even more conflicted: he had to admit that while Thanos' snap made a bad situation worse, it was already bad because of their own actions in Germany, and what they did next wasn't better – somehow all of the friendships, old and new, just frayed, leaving the group in pieces – and those pieces didn't want to get back together, not entirely…

Several figures appeared out of darkness, clearly up to no good.

"Oy, fellows!" Barton yelled, almost happy for a fight – he was not really into those long internal mental contemplations, you see. "And what might you be up to?"

"And what are you doing here, mortal man?" one of the newcomers asked, his face distending into ridges, and teeth into fangs. "Feel like dying?"

"Vampires," Hawkeye groaned even as he readied his bow. "I hate vampires!"

The feeling was mutual, as the vampires charged, snarling, at him. Hawkeye began to fire, but vampires are more resilient and harder to be defeated with ranged weapons than ordinary humans are: two or three went down in mid-rush, nothing but dust in the wind, but the rest were almost upon him, before a flaming chain enveloped them in flames and burned them into ash instead.

"And who are you?" asked a burning skeleton, swinging the fiery chain in question.

"Fury sent me?" Hawkeye suggested brightly, as he was beginning to suspect that he might be out of his depths here: sure, he encountered supernatural entities both before S.H.I.E.L.D. fell and after, but a fiery biker… "Uh, are you Johnny Blaze?"

"No, I'm his successor," the biker replied as he transformed from a fiery skeleton into a much more mundane-looking man. "My name is Robbie, if you care. I do not know Fury very well, only by hearsay. Why'd he sent you?"

"I'm not so sure myself," Barton admitted. "I think that it might have something to do with closure-"

"…I think that I know someone who might help you with that," Robbie muttered. "Hop on," he gestured and a motorbike drove up to him, (by its' own power).

"…" Barton muttered, as he realized that he was to ride on a motorbike with another man. "Laura's going to kill me."

"Girlfriend?"

"Wife."

"…Yes, you're a dead man walking."

"I hate you."

/ / /

After a brief but exciting ride on a supernatural motorbike through the city at night, the Ghost Rider and Hawkeye arrived at a fancy-looking building downtown. Stark's counterpart might have been even more impressive by such standards, but this building somehow seemed friendlier and homier instead. Maybe it had to do with bright light and loud noises coming from within it; and even some smells that were almost, but not quite, familiar to Barton in his tenure as Ronin, they appeared to be more muted on the outside, somehow, but regardless…

"Robbie! You made it!" A familiar woman, dressed very fancily, rushed out of the doors and hugged the Ghost Rider very enthusiastically. "Great! Let's get you dressed for the occasion."

"Hey Kara!" Robbie said with all the cheerfulness of a boyfriend who really loves his special someone but really is not looking forwards to getting dressed. "This guy tagged along. Fury sent him."

"Barton," agent 33, who was supposedly either killed by Hydra or revealed as Hydra and killed by S.H.I.E.L.D., gave Barton the same look that she used to give him when they were cadets in S.H.I.E.L.D. academy. "Shouldn't you be with Laura?"

"Yes," Barton admitted. "I really should be with Laura and our children, sorting it all out," he looked away. "I cannot. I don't know why, but I cannot-"

"He needs closure," the Ghost Robber helpfully suggested.

"Oh?" agent 33 gave Hawkeye a piercing look straight in the eye. "Interesting. Barton, go on."

"…Firstly, you're not the boss of me, secondly did you know that Fury is re-starting S.H.I.E.L.D.-"

"No, he isn't!" Agent 33 paused and corrected herself. "I mean, he isn't going to be running it anymore."

"…Oh. I did not know that. I didn't get that vibe from him either," Barton admitted. "So, uh, why'd you bring me here?" he turned to the Ghost Rider instead.

"Well, you need _closure_," the Ghost Rider shrugged. "He really does," he added to agent 33, he immediately became more alert at its' mention.

"Grant Douglas Ward!" she yelled so loudly that it was some sort of a miracle as to why she had not awoken the entire neighborhood. "Get your ass here! Agent Barton here needs closure!"

"I hear you," and yet another figure of Hawkeye's S.H.I.E.L.D. past came out. "Matchstick, thanks for making it on time. For making Kara a nervous wreck – not so much."

"Nervous? Who was nervous?" agent 33 asked brightly, failing completely to be convincing.

"You. You've been hovering at the door almost as soon as he left," the newcomer said simply. "Ergo, Matchstick, get your ass in here, get dressed, and let's go. Barton, why are _you_ here?"

"You're not the boss of me," Barton eyed the taller man – as long as he could remember, Grant had been taller and stronger than he was, but he could never defeat him. …Well, not for long, anyhow, and he had never been hostile to Clint, unlike John Garrett had been. Actually…

"I thought that you were dead," he told the younger man. "Either Hydra or killed by Hydra. Sorry, but there were a lot of rumors among the survivors regarding those who didn't make it-"

"Mmm," the other man openly avoided the question, even as agent 33 took the Ghost Rider firmly under an elbow and led him inside in a decisive, brisk, manner. "It's complex and I don't want to discuss it, since we were never that close or that friendly, and why are you seeking closure?"

Barton thought this over. "True, though you never struck me as a Hydra type-"

"I wasn't, though that wasn't much of a good thing as you may think," the bigger man admitted. "I wasn't Hydra, but neither was I S.H.I.E.L.D., apparently."

"Fury thinks differently, I think-"

"Who knows what _he_ thinks? I don't."

"Coulson did-"

"Coulson has died, I heard," Grant snapped.

Barton felt his own emotions shut down. "Coulson died before the Hydra reveal," he began, as he looked Grant in the eye. "He didn't?"

"He died later, and you need to talk to Fury – that is one topic I'm not going to talk to you about," the younger man did not back down. "Are you – legally – still a part of S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

Barton blinked at the abrupt change of topics. "Yes, maybe, probably, I don't know; I mean, me and Nat never made an official statement or wrote letters of resignation because S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone… it wasn't gone, was it?"

"It survived, sort of, at least officially," Grant exhaled and offered his arm to the ex-Avenger. "Come on, Barton, let's go. You want to have closure?"

"Yes," Barton exhaled.

"With Romanoff?"

"Yes," Barton looked away. "It was never as it was with Laura, they're different women, but, but still, she was my friend, and for a good time I just left her hanging in the wind while going on some crazy-ass crusade. This isn't how it should have been, and now she's dead-"

"Yes," Grant nodded as he clapped his hands and several people began to hover around Barton, changing him into something more formal. "Fortunately – in some sense of that word – I think that I know as to where she had ended-up in the afterlife, so now we're going to see her."

"…That doesn't make any sense, which is really the main reason as to why I don't attack you or demand a better explanation," Barton snapped, as he finally finished getting changed and followed the other man…to a gathering of people that were waiting for them in front of an elevator. Agent 33 and Robbie the (other) Ghost Rider was there too; agent 33 was looking excited, her partner – more subdued, and as for the others-

"Don't I know you?" he asked a much younger couple.

"No!" Peter Parker, who was wearing the most adorable (in Barton's professional opinion) disguise, replied brightly, even as his girlfriend nodded emphatically. "You don't!"

"How cute!" agent 33 commented from her vantage point. "The elevator now?"

"You're enjoying it way too much," Grant commented, as he, agent 33 and the Ghost Rider herded the others – including Barton - into the elevator and it began to descend.

"Should I be scared?" Barton muttered to no one in particular.

"More like have a healthy dose of concern instead," the Ghost Rider muttered back.

/ / /

…Contrary to Barton's concern, when the elevator opened, they…clearly were not in the same building anymore, but in some much fancier and grander place with a distinctly non-European style and design. Abruptly the costumes of men and women – especially women – were not so over-the-top anymore and looked much more wholesome and organic.

"Where are we?" Barton muttered to anyone.

"In the palace of the Great Maharajah, the man in charge of – a lot of things and people," Grant muttered back.

"That's nice; did I meet him?"

"Last time he walked in the world of mortal men he was known as Jeffrey Mace," the other man shrugged even as he, Barton, and the rest of the people continued to walk down the corridor. "So did you?"

"…No, but I think that I've heard about him – Patriot, right?" Barton grew visibly thoughtful. "There was something fishy about him…" Grant raised an eyebrow, "hey I never met him, and besides, I'm making this up as we're going along-"

The corridor entered and they entered an immense throne room, complete with a throne – two thrones – and various seats and benches for those in audience, and again – with a distinctly Asiatic feel to them.

"This reminds me of that mission to Jodhpur," Barton muttered to no one in particular as he was led to some seat. "Wonder why?"

Someone barked something in some language and everyone stood up, even Barton, as a procession went into the room to the throne. A married couple – a happily married couple, Barton was sure for some reason – was in front of it, and it was they who sat upon the thrones. "At ease," the man of the pair said and everyone visibly relaxed. "Feel free to sit in Our presence-" and everyone sat, including Barton, who was beginning to suspect just how in over his head he was.

"Ah, Hudima," the speaker continued to smile broadly, a professional political smile if Barton ever saw one. Admittedly, he didn't see as many of them as one would expect – he was better off suited serving S.H.I.E.L.D. in field, not in Washington D.C., unlike some other agents – but, regardless…

"So happy that you accepted Our invitation," the speaker continued, looking at Ward. "We were worried that you wouldn't come-"

"It's Barton's doing, it is," Ward replied, sounding decidedly unhappy here. "He's here for agent Romanoff."

There was a slight pause as everyone else who had not come with them just stared at Clint. "Why, so it is him, and so he's here for agent Romanoff," the speaker jabbed his finger at the redhead in question.

"Barton, do you at least have a plan?" the aforementioned redhead snapped.

"Sure – I'm improvising it as I'm going along," Barton replied brightly.

"Once this is over and we're out of here, I'll kill you," Natasha sniffed.

"…Okay," Barton winced, knowing full well that his friend was not entirely joking here, and turned to the man in charge. "Uh, can I have her now?"

"Wording," the latter replied, grinning brightly. "What would you wife think-?"

"Don't even go there – your majesty," Barton said crossly, "after me and Nat and the others are out of here, me and Nat and Laura will have a good long discussion, believe it! I do not love Nat the way I love Laura, I admit it, but we are still friends, and I do not think that she is enjoying it here – and by what right are you holding her here, anyhow?" he added, trying to sound as how Steve Rogers would, but not quite succeeding. (There was a reason as to why Captain America passed his shield onto Sam 'Falcon' Wilson and not Hawkeye here, after all).

"Oh, Fury's protégé, who took over his role as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s director was so in over his head for a number of reasons that when I came along in my Jeffrey Mace persona he signed over the entirety of S.H.I.E.L.D. down to its' guts without _any_ persuasion or manipulation from my part – and now _all_ of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents end up in my corner of the Lower Planes when they die!" He laughed. It was a very impressive villainous laugh too. Hawkeye was genuinely impressed, honestly!

"It's not so bad," Ward muttered next to him. "You can always escape by quitting S.H.I.E.L.D. legally – and if you're already belonging to some other religion odds are that you'll still end up there, wherever there is – kind of like in case of Laura…"

"Mmm," Clint muttered, aware that despite all of her old-fashioned values Laura was also adhering to some obscure modern-age religion, one that she wasn't big on talking about, and Clint didn't like to ask about either – in S.H.I.E.L.D. it was no one's business as to who worshipped whom (or what), unless they were making it into any sort of a problem instead. "Now what?"

"Now we're going to have a competition," Jeffrey/not Jeffrey said brightly. "If you win, you and agent Natasha can leave in peace, if I win, it's another story. Do you accept?"

"Yes, not that I have a choice," Clint eyed the bigger man warily. "What sort of a competition?"

"An eating contest!"

Clint blinked and eyed the other man more cautiously now – he may have been something of a legend in the old S.H.I.E.L.D., but in real life he did have his limits, and eating was one of them. "An eating contest?" he carefully asked, already aware that he was something of a disadvantage, here. "What are we talking about? Hamburgers? Hot dogs?"

"Completely different, agent Burton," his interlocutor smiled as he clapped his hands and immediately a long, fancy table appeared, with two chairs facing each other. What was even more important was that it was set with plenty of fancy foods, (again reminding Barton of his mission to Jodhpur), and with a sinking feeling Barton began to suspect that he was going to lose here, just maybe.

"Now, agent Barton," Jeffrey/not Jeffrey continued sagely, "I won't be competing against you directly – I'll be using Grant Ward here as my proxy!"

"In which case, Great Maharajah, I will be using his former rookie Daisy Johnson as my proxy," Barton felt himself speak, even though he did not – someone was making him into their ventriloquist dummy, and doing so quite successfully, too!

"Interesting," for the first time in this encounter Jeffrey/not Jeffrey looked thoughtful. "All right, agent Johnson, you're up!"

…Yet another completely unfamiliar to Barton person appeared on the scene – a short but busty brunette, with her own fire burning in her eyes.

"You!" she told Ward ignoring Barton completely. "You! Why I am even surprised that _you're here_-"

"Well, _I_ am," Ward replied, also ignoring Barton. "What'd happen? Last I heard you were off the planet in space?"

"I was; I was helping Simmons rescue Fitz, and it worked, and it went south at the last minute, as it was always did, and I ended up here, wherever here is," Daisy snapped, looked him straight in the eye, looked away. "I met agent Romanoff here though, so it's not all bad…," she added, sounding much more subdued.

"Yes, and you got to live your dream, travelling to the stars," Ward nodded, completely seriously. "Did you like them?"

"…Can we talk about something else?" agent Daisy muttered. "Like how'd agent Barton hear about me?"

"He must've heard about your eating prowess back on the Bus," Ward shrugged. "If the old S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn't fallen, I'm sure you would've become legendary and other agents would pay you good money just to see you eat."

"…You're going down, Robot," agent Daisy muttered, the fire back in her eyes. "For real."

"We'll see," Grant nodded as the two of them went to their appropriate places at the table, pulled out napkins and eating utensils and began, well, a feeding frenzy.

"The Hell?" Barton blinked – whatever he had been expecting, it was not this.

"Johnson's an InHuman – a human with alien DNA, with very energy-demanding powers," agent 33 explained, as she was the closest to him now. "Ward is something else too – oh, and look! Looks as if they're all done!"

And so they were: on agent Johnson's side, there was nothing but some bones picked clean; on Ward's side, not even that. "Remind me never to invite them for a meal," Barton winced, "I will never live it down!"

"Well, looks as if it's a tie," the companion of Jeffrey Mace (or whoever that he actually was) spoke up for the first time. "Guess that we'll have to do a tie-breaking event next!"

"Of course, oh Great Maharajah, you and your infinite wisdom," Ward muttered as he got onto is feet and helped his former rookie as well. "How are you feeling?"

"Properly full for the first time since May started training me and you abandoned us," the woman muttered. "Was it worth it-"

"No, no it wasn't, rookie," Ward muttered, as he brought her over to his seat and the two of them sat down, side-by-side, both looking quite happy with this turn of events. "You were right back then, I was wrong-"

"Yeah, but I was barely better," agent Johnson muttered, as she burrowed into his side, metaphorically speaking.

"Can we get to the tie-breaking event?" Barton muttered: this sight made him miss Laura a lot, plus he was getting the feeling that he was missing a lot of important info here. "What is it, anyhow?"

"A race," Jeffrey/not Jeffrey replied brightly.

"Against whom? Quicksilver?" Barton glared.

"Precisely!" the other man snapped his hands once more, and Pietro 'Quicksilver' Maximoff was brought in, all tied and chained up.

"I thought that he was subject of a different department?" Robbie the Ghost Rider muttered to no one in particular.

"You let me worry about that," the man in charge smiled, very nastily. "Unless you want to race him-?"

"No, but I'll do it anyhow," the Ghost Rider sighed as he got onto his feet. "Need to impress Kara here by doing something really stupid and all."

"Oh Robbie," Kara/agent 33, looked at the man with a very particular look – Laura looked at Clint like that. "Good luck!" She also got onto her feet and kissed him, very chastely and passionately at the same time.

"…Right!" Robbie straightened-up even further, adjusted his clothing and went forth.

"Just what are the rules here?" Pietro spoke-up suddenly, startling Barton (and Natasha): he knew when a voice grew rough with disuse and this was it. In addition – Pietro was dead; Barton knew that personally, so what was going on here for real?

"Race from here to there," the companion of Jeffrey/not Jeffrey spoke up suddenly, indicating a racetrack for runners. "On start, pay attention, go!"

And the two runners were off – or so Barton thought: Pietro raised a wind of some sort, so it was hard to notice anything-

"Here, give this to my sister," he heard Quicksilver in question whisper roughly into his ear and felt something thrust into one of his hands – something that he instinctively hid. "Tell her…no, she'll know!" and Quicksilver was gone.

"And done!" Now Jeffrey/not Jeffrey sounded quite annoyed. "Mr. Maximoff, did you have to be such an ass? Pardon my language, Hela, but this is just who he is-"

"Yes, I did," Pietro nodded sourly, "I did, Rakshasa king."

"Get him out of here!" Jeffrey/not Jeffrey grimaced. Immediately, two people, (and who again looked somehow familiar to Barton, he just did not have time to remember them properly), chained Pietro back up once more and took him away.

"That was interesting, though the floor is ruined," the woman muttered, as indeed, Pietro did leave dark greasy black skid marks where the running track used to be. "Right. Ghost Rider?"

"Yes?" Robbie, who was back in his seat, eyed the woman warily. "What is it, lady Hela? Err – your majesty?"

"Thank you for Our entertainment, here's a drink," the queen – lady Hela – said brightly, as she brought a great big drinking horn over to him.

(Barton frowned: there was something strange about horn, but what?)

"Thank you, your majesty," agent 33 said brightly, as she took it, took another one for herself, (from a passing tray nearby) switched them around some, and drank. So did Robbie. The Ghost Rider remained fine. Agent 33…also, though the look that she gave the other woman (after a surprisingly long drink) was oddly dark.

"You're stronger than you were once," the queen said simply.

"Yes, but your majesty? You're stronger yet," agent 33 replied simply.

"Fair enough, and now-" the queen didn't finish as someone else appeared on the scene.

"Jeffrey," the newcomer spoke.

"Johnny," Jeffrey Mace, or the Great Maharajah, or whoever he actually was, spoke. "So you decided to come over too?" his voice was wary, carefully controlled.

"Yes, well, this is a story for another time. Your Majesty," the newcomer nodded towards the queen, lady Hela. "Pleasure and honor to meet you."

"It's all mine," the woman smiled thinly, without any humor. "Who's your companion?"

"…That is actually very embarrassing," the newcomer did honestly look embarrassed, but Barton was having doubts about his sincerity for some reason, "but Ms. Lewis here has decided to tag along."

"Which one of you people have had the guts to destroy Mew-Mew?" the height-challenged, slightly-built, bespectacled brunette was kind of familiar to Barton, but that wasn't important right now; what mattered was that for many of the people in the room, she was apparently scary enough to give her a wide berth. "Well?" she looked around. "Who was it?"

A big black cat slinked towards her; Ms. Lewis looked it straight in the eye. "Was it you?" she asked the cat.

"And on that note, Ms. Romanoff, let's get you and agent Barton home, shall we?" Ward got onto his feet, while helping agent Johnson up as well. "Robbie, if you don't mind?"

"Sure," the other man said brightly, as he swung his burning chain in a circle forming some sort of a portal. "People, if you don't mind-?"

They did not.

/ / /

The world above (or Midgard, or whatever you want to call it) met them with the first light of day.

"We've been down there all night?" Hawkeye muttered.

"Pretty much," the Ghost Rider replied; "Kara-?" The woman in question raised her finger in a pausing gesture, walked over to the coastline and went gloriously sick into the water.

"You okay?" the Ghost Rider asked her.

"Better than you would've been if you drank _that_," Kara muttered. "I'm the Iara, remember? I'm water, while you're fire; if you drank that liquid, it would've been bad – cold water, hot fiery bones, you know?"

"I have no idea as to what they are talking about?" the Black Widow told her friend. "You?"

"Not really," Hawkeye admitted, "but maybe that's a story for another time. Ward?"

However, the other man – and agent Daisy – was standing before a very familiar looking (for Hawkeye, anyhow), door and ringing the doorbell.

"Yes?" the woman of the house opened it.

"I'm sorry, but agent Johnson really needs to use your toilet, Mrs. Barton. Sorry to intrude upon you, but we _are_ with your husband, after all, see?" and he pointed at Clint and Natasha.

Laura blinked and looked at her husband and his best friend.

"Laura. I can explain everything," Clint twitched, as he realized that their entire entourage had landed in his family's backyard rather than in NYC proper, for example.

"Fury meddled," Natasha explained simply. "Hi, Laura."

"Of course he did," Laura exhaled. "And where is he now?"

…It was then that Fury arrived, alongside Maria Hill and several Damage Control vehicles. "Need help?" he asked calmly.

"Yes," Clint nodded, "and to ask some questions, starting with Pietro Maximoff and Wanda, I suppose."

"…I was afraid of that," Fury confessed – but that was another story.

End


End file.
